


D.A.N.C.E [Viktuuri Master Mix]

by thatsagoodjoke



Series: The Ultimate College Playlist [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Recreational Drug Use, That one AU where everyone is a hot mess in a different way, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsagoodjoke/pseuds/thatsagoodjoke
Summary: Viktor meets Yuuri, and proves himself to be an extremely unreliable narrator, a true hot mess if ever there were one.





	D.A.N.C.E [Viktuuri Master Mix]

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, I'm writing a trainwreck. Get ready. It's going to be terrible and mesmerizing. 
> 
> the title comes from ["D.A.N.C.E"](https://youtu.be/sy1dYFGkPUE) by Justice
> 
> BEWARE: NOT BETA'D

_Do the D-A-N-C-E_  
_Stick to the B-E-A-T_  
_Just easy as A-B-C_

 _Do the Dance!_  

They're at Central Station, a gay club downtown carved into an old, rundown used-to-be train station. Viktor's upstairs with Chris, looking over the dance floor. There was drag show earlier, so everyone on the dance floor is already drunk. He, personally, is nursing his third vodka cranberry.

It's 3 AM. Part of him wants to go home, because he's certain Georgi will be up bright and early to drag him to the traditional Saturday morning breakfast. Chris has something else in mind though. He says something about the dance floor, and then he disappears down the stairs . Some shitty Rihanna mix is playing over the sound system, and Viktor doesn't really feel up to dancing. He liked his balcony spot better, but he lets Chris pull him into his arms anyway.

He kind of wishes he was high. Things like this are more enjoyable when he's high because he doesn't have to think about the way he likes it when Chris wraps his hand around the back of his neck or presses their foreheads together so that they can look at each other. He can just enjoy the other man's wandering hands and pretty eyes. Chris's voice drifts to him like smoke. He's saying something about another drink. Then Viktor is standing alone on the dance floor.

He catches himself looking around. It would be a perfect Snapchat moment, a bunch of drunk strangers making fools of themselves to bad pop. He's working on becoming one of those people, someone that's too drunk to care. Maybe he'll enjoy everything more if he's more drunk than he is now.

 

It's 4:30 and he's drunker.

He's at the bar, watching Chris try to put himself between a pretty bronze thing and his gorgeous friend. Chris catches his eyes and beckons him over to the floor. In the back of his mind, Viktor knows that he lost any grace he had two drinks ago, but his good judgement left him long before his grace did.

Looks like he's going to become a prefect Snapchat moment.

Then dance floor is decidedly hotter than it was an hour and thirty minutes ago. He breaks out into a sweat in minutes, but that doesn't stop the other friend, the one that's not bronze and pressed into Chris, from taking his hand and pulling him into a dance of their own.

He dances like sin, this kid in his arms. He's really drunk too, something for him and Viktor to have in common the latter supposes. He puts hands to hips and chest to back, and suddenly Viktor has found the rhythm. He doesn't know what song is playing but it's miles better than anything else that's played tonight. "So what's your name?" He tries to yell over everything. His impromptu dance partner doesn't immediately respond, and Viktor wonders if it's because he didn't hear or if maybe he said it in Russian instead of English. He gets like that sometimes, when he's drunk.

There's a a lull in the music, and his partner turns around. "I'm Yuuri."

"My name is Viktor."

 

They don't go to breakfast. Chris is hungover and Viktor's still drunk.

 

 

They're back at Central Station tonight, and this time, Viktor has decided to keep his wits about him. It's one in the morning and he's only had three vodka cranberries. He's good. He's good.

_He's not good._

Chris has been feeding him shots all night, and he is not good at all. Yuuri's back, and he and Viktor are making friends out of each other, going drink for drink while Phichit and Chris treat each other to roaming hands, giggling and breathing each other's air. The music isn't as nearly as bad as it was last night; Viktor can appreciate it. Somewhere through the haze of alcohol and the sweet lilt of Yuuri's voice, Viktor catches snippets of Kylie Minogue, and he finds himself wiggling to the beat.

"Do you want to dance?"

The question catches Viktor by suprise, and it surprises him even more when he hears himself give an affirmative. Yuuri gets up, which prompts Phichit to stand. It's like watching dominoes in reverse; drunk Viktor is mesmerized. At least for like two seconds. Once again he's getting dragged (actually not so much this time) to the dance floor.

Viktor doesn't know what song is playing, but there's a saxophone involved. He's here for it. Yuuri's dancing on him again, and he loves it.

He loves everything about tonight.

He's so great right now, so up.

He's fucked.

 

Some time during the night they relocate. He'll find out later that it's to Yuuri's and Phichit's apartment. They drink more. Chris and Phichit do lines (Viktor doesn't count how many) off of each others' thighs. Then they disappear, and Yuuri and Viktor are left alone on the couch in the living room.

"You're so pretty." He hears himself sigh.

"Not as pretty as you." Yuuri lifts a hand to sweep silver fringe out of his eyes. Viktor feels his world get a little brighter at the touch.

He feels himself laugh, and Yuuri laughs with him. "Can I kiss you?"

Yuuri keeps catching him by surprise with these questions, and he keeps surprising himself with all of these affirmatives. "I need to hear you say yes, Viktor."

"Yes, Yuuri, you can kiss me."

That's seems to be all the other needs to hear because then there are lips on his. He feels like he's on fire, but he chalks it up to the fact that he's just that fucking drunk. They kiss again and it's the same.

Then they do it some more.

And some more.

The flames that engulf him just keep burning. He doesn't quite know how to feel about it really, but Yuuri has all but crawled into his lap. He can't be mad about it, so he finishes the job, fingers digging into the soft flesh of the smaller man's thighs as he arranges them more comfortably. God, he could lose himself in all of Yuuri's soft parts, and he lets Yuuri know as best as he can, gripping strong handfuls of that sweet ass. He's rewarded with a groan and a roll of Yuuri's hips. It's the tipping point that spurs Viktor to want more, feeling Yuuri's physical arousal. He goes for the juggular, figuratively and litterally, scrapping teeth against the juncture between neck and shoulder, while dipping hands into the waistband of Yuuri's jeans.

Yuuri stills; Yuuri stops. "Viktor!" He's breathless.

"Yuuri-"

"Viktor please. We can't-I don't- It's not right." Yuuri can't seem to string the words together. 

Viktor almost laughs. He smiles instead, trying not to seem patronizing. This stranger is so precious. Yuuri is so precious, and that's alright with him. "Okay, we won't do that. Can we go to bed though?"

It's Yuuri's turn to nod, dazed a little. He leads Viktor down a hallway to the last room. Viktor can't remember what it looks like, but Yuuri's bed is comfortable. Yuuri himself fits into Viktor's nooks and crannies like he was made for them. It's a strange sort of perfect that Viktor is learning he'll only ever be able to find by accident, the sort of perfect that he's usually too stupid to try and keep.

Morning, or afternoon really, finds everyone worse for wear, and Viktor wakes in the familiar hungover daze that he always vows to never repeat but somehow manages to recreate. Yuuri's already awake, in the kitchen. Phichit is with him, and, upon further inspection, seems to Viktor like he never actually made it to sleep in the first place. "I can't believe you wussed out like that. I would have slept with him drunk or not."

"I thought it was sweet." Viktor says.

Yuuri gives a cute little jump and begins to stammer something about breakfast (lunch), glaring at Phichit all the while. Viktor leans against the counter, still in his clothes, still covered in glitter, and he watches Yuuri fuss over something in a pan. It's revealed to be bacon, which Phichit wastes no time claiming for himself. "I swear to God, Phichit, if you eat all of that bacon, I'll end you." It's a very motherly thing of Yuuri to say, and Phichit says just as much.

Viktor smiles at them and their domesticity. It reminds him of his dynamic with Chris, at least when they were younger. Before they were grown and living with each other more out convenience than necessity, they were like this, looking out for each other, and keeping one another from devolving into manner-less heathens. A bunch of good that did in the end now that he thinks about it. It makes him wonder how well either of them would have turned out had they been separated at any point during the last eight years. Lord knows Georgi had tried to come between them, but that's a story for a different time, or maybe, for never at all.

Chris is a filthy animal, and it shows in the way that he traipses into a kitchen that's not his butt-ass naked with half a boner and a grin. Yuuri makes a face worthy of the word "prude." Both Viktor and Phichit warn of the dangers of hot grease to the genitalia. Chris ignores them just as Viktor knew he would. It's a minute and a half stretch that warms Viktor's heart just a bit. It's another strange, perfect moment that he's had the privilege of experiencing since meeting these two.

Chris does eventually put on clothes. They have breakfast together, sprawled across the living room. It's so spontaneous and familial; It's something else for Viktor to love about the last twenty-four hours. If his hangover would just go ahead and fuck off, he'd be perfectly grand.

 

 

Monday comes, and their perfect little yellow bubble is punctured by responsibility. Viktor has commissions that he's ignored, and Chris has hair to do and women to please. He locks himself away in his studio all day. He doesn't take calls, he doesn't answer the door except for the delivery boy when he finally remembers to eat. It's quite pitiful how he devolves from functioning human adult into a strange demon devoted to visual ecstasy. Chris told him once it was a little scary to watch him. He told Viktor that his eyes get fever bright, and he starts muttering to myself at a mile a minute. It's like he's possessed.

His mother used to tell him the same thing.

Chris comes by sometime after midnight, dressed in sweats he previously swore would never see the light of day. Viktor's pretty sure he was only there to make sure he hadn't starved to death; he gives an unsatisfied sort of tut when Viktor tells him what he ate that day. He drags the artist back to their apartment, and they both tumble through their nightly routines.

In the shower, Viktor thinks of Yuuri, or something as close to Yuuri as he can piece together from his hazy, drunken memories. It's something kind of darling with chocolate eyes and skin like peanut butter ganache, limbs not too long and not too lean, just enough to grab in all the right places. He conjures something beautiful, and his orgasm tells him as much.

He gets out of the shower, and he doesn't eat. He starves to the thought of Yuuri, and he wishes he'll get to see him again. Oh, how Viktor wants to see him again.

 

Tuesday is a blur. Viktor doesn't remember much beyond the glide of paint on canvas, and the itch of cotton against his skin. He finishes the commission he'd been avoiding before. It's beautiful. He hates it.

 

Wednesday he doesn't work at all. He does a half of a five strip while Chris trip sits him, no women to please. He gets a series of really gory Snaps from Mila as punishment. Viktor kind of hates her, and somewhere in the back of his mind he files away that Yuri has broken his leg being stupid on his skateboard.

At one point, to calm him down a bit, Chris throws him into the shower fully clothed. He plays that one Australian band that Viktor likes, and it works in a weird way. It pushes his trip along, that's for certain.

He takes out his sketch book, and hours go by.

Or are they minutes?

Or days?

He has to eat something, or he'll die. He tells Chris as much. They go on an adventure, Viktor's words, and they find themselves in a Wendy's. "Why are we eating garbage?" Viktor asks with a perfect drugged innocence.

"Because sometimes the temple craves garbage."

Viktor laughs.

Then he hurls.

He witnesses the birth of the universe in his vomit; he swears.

"You're not deep." Is all Chris offers as a reply.

They watch Paprika. It's a bad idea, so they turn on Steven Universe instead. Viktor sings along to "Giant Woman." He's off tempo and an octave lower than where he should be; Chris thinks it's exquisitely adorable. It isn't helped by the fact that Viktor's pupils are still the size of marbles. Viktor wonders out loud about things through ten or so episode before he decides he wants to lay down.

It's silent for about fourty-five minutes before Viktor starts screaming about sleep. It takes another thirty minutes for him to pass out.

 

Thursday is uneventful. Chris goes to work; Viktor recovers.

 

Friday starts at the hospital. Yuri broke his leg; Viktor knew that. He hangs around long enough to bring the poor kid a burrito from Qdoba. He's ungrateful, and it's good to see his pain meds don't mellow him out too much.

Viktor spends the rest of the day trying to do concept work. He'll start he's graphic novel eventually. He promises. (He's been promising for the past year, so we'll see how well that goes.) He tries to concentrate on the world he's trying to build, but all he can muster is a hazy sketch of Yuuri. It's even less focused than the fantasy of him that Viktor scraped together in the shower a couple of nights ago. He's a little surprised at himself, really.

He's surprised that he didn't start to throwing up drawings of Yuuri sooner.

Chris crawls home after twelve hours of color corrections and blow outs, and he sleeps like the dead. Viktor offers him an adderall and a promise to be a Fun Person™ at Central Station tonight, but Chris would rather bury himself in a bed than in a random from a club. Viktor understands.

He goes by himself.

 

Viktor is at the downstairs bar, and he doesn't give a fuck about life. Yuuri's there, but he's dancing with _someone else._ Viktor's rational mind tells him he's being stupid. He doesn't actually know Yuuri from Adam; he has quite literally  _no right_ to be upset. That doesn't change the fact that he's fucking. UPSET.

He sits there for an hour, drinking his undeserved sorrow, before someone even acknowledges him as a living breathing individual. Phichit buys him a rum and coke, ("I was drinking vodka cranberry."), and he gives Viktor a pitiful kind of look. "Oh, you poor sap." 

"I'm sorry, who asked you?" Phichit rolls his eye so hard the DJ could probably hear it in the distance.

"Look, how about instead of sulking at the bar like an entitled jack ass," Phichit takes a patronizing swig of his drink. "You get up and ask him to dance."

Viktor shoots the other a look that could kill greater men, but he does take Phichit's advice. He stands and takes stock of himself before moving closer to the edge of the dance floor. The music calms a bit, and Viktor makes a move. He's lucky that Yuuri likes to dance back to chest; it makes it easier to approach him and coax him away. He's also lucky that he's a league above the schmuck that Yuuri's with presently. It's easy, all things considered. The guy Yuuri is with is too drunk to realize he's getting replaced, but Yuuri doesn't want to dance with Viktor. No, he's dragging Viktor upstairs to where the music is quieter and the dark corners are plenty. Viktor can't really be that upset; the music's been pretty terrible tonight.

 

"So, like, you've got to give me you're number or something, because I had no idea you were even here." Yuuri is flushed from dancing, but this is the most sober Viktor's ever seen him. (What does that really mean though? He's seen him all of three times.)

"Yeah, okay, that's cool." Is all the english, Viktor can muster up in his excitement.

He's presented with a 'New Contact' screen, and suddenly everything is way too real. He has to play it cool, though. No freaking the fuck out because the guy you've become unreasonably attached to is asking for your number. He wants to scream and run around and rejoice. Instead, he takes the phone and enter's his name and number, the former with a string of wildly inappropriate emojis.

Yuuri practically guffaws at him, and then goes to tapping away. His own phone gives a weak buzz, and he's presented with an unknown number and a text consisting only of "YUURI." Viktor giggles to himself as he goes about saving the number to his own phone, and Yuuri laughs even harder. He probably looks like a teenaged girl, but drunk Viktor is a-okay as long as Yuuri is smiling and his face is bright like sunshine.

They talk, and Phichit comes to sit with them. They talk some more, and they drink more. Phichit leaves, and they touch more. The music gets softer, and they kiss a little. Then Yuuri can't keep his hands to himself. He makes a place for himself in Viktor's lap, and they kiss a lot. Just like last time, Viktor feels like he's holding the damn sun, and he imagines he wouldn't have not a lick of trouble dying like this, with this sweet, pretty thing in his arms.

(Later on in the week, when Viktor starts to moon over him for the millionth time, Chris will finally begin to rain on his parade. "You don't even know him. You've literally only ever seen him in dim lighting, covered in glitter. Get a grip."

Viktor won't get a grip.)

In the mean time though, they kiss and break apart and kiss again, and that little perfection is back. They stare into each other's eyes, and nothing exists by Yuuri, perched nice and lovely on his thighs. It's a certain kind of magical that can't be purposefully recreated, only stumbled upon on accident.

Phichit ruins it...or rather Justice ruins it.

How fucking dare they?

Viktor doesn't know the song, but Yuuri does. Phichit's back, and they're dancing and singing along. If Viktor wasn't so upset about the death of another perfect bubble, he'd be taking reference shots because they are both breathtaking like this, carefree and wild. They make quick work of hauling Viktor to his feet, and getting on the dance floor. It seems like everyone likes this song. The dance floor isn't its regular vision of slutty wannabe decadence. No, it's a goddamned party. Everyone is happy and smiling and singing along. Fuck, the whole bar is into it. _Why has he never heard this fucking song before?_

He doesn't know what else to do, so he tries to find the rhythm and he dances, crazy and wild like everyone else. Phichit's got his phone out, and Viktor would bet money that he's a true disciple of Snapchat. He'd bet even more money that he's on the guy's story with a silly caption and a bunch of stickers. Whatever, he doesn't care. How can he when he's dancing like a fool with a cute guy, the same cute guy that gave him his number earlier, the same cute guy that was _in his lap_ earlier?

It goes on like that for a while. The DJ is on a roll, and everyone is in a good mood. Then Viktor looks up and it's 4 AM. He doesn't have anything to tomorrow, but he's definitely been up for twenty or so hours now. Fatigue hits him all at once, and he finds himself bidding Yuuri and Phichit good night. He calls a cab, too drunk to drive. He hopes that Chris will be a Good Samaritan and bring him back to his car tomorrow. He shouldn't really have a problem with it.

 

Viktor wakes up the next afternoon with a hangover from hell and a slew of text messages. One of them is from Georgi, clearly miffed that he's missing breakfast _again._ Five of them are from Yuri, begging him to bring him food and then telling him to go fuck himself for not answering and ignoring the injured. Two of them are from Yuuri. One is an innocent "Hey!" The other is an inquiry of if he's got plans to do anything that day. That one is less than an hour old, thank God. The last one is less than ten minutes old from an unknown number.

'IT'S PHICHIT, BITCH.'

Viktor cackles at it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I know it's not realistic for an entire club to break out into a Justice song, but it's my world, Viktor just lives in it. 
> 
> Comments are appreciates AF. Kudos are also appreciated. 
> 
> I'm a dead person.
> 
> Until next time, fam.


End file.
